


kiss me

by seiseijoh



Series: i hate you (i've got you) [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Biting, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Making Out, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Some mild longing, other ships mentioned are iwaoisuga bokuaka and kurodai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiseijoh/pseuds/seiseijoh
Summary: “They won’t know, if you’re quiet,” he says in between kisses along his neck. “I know being quiet isn’t easy for you, but I’m sure you can keep your mouth shut for a few minutes.”“A few minutes?” Hanamaki’s attention is all over the place – the feeling of Matsukawa’s ass through his jeans, the hands tight on his arms, the tightness and heat growing low in his belly, the lips and teeth on his neck. It makes it hard to speak, but he manages. “You’re awfully confident.”Matsukawa laughs. “I know what I’m doing. Come on, don’t you want to do something stupid?”“I do something stupid on a regular basis,” he mutters. “Something stupid is currently trying to get my dick out in front of everyone.”prequel to pretty boy
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Series: i hate you (i've got you) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870471
Comments: 16
Kudos: 189
Collections: expressions of love





	kiss me

**Author's Note:**

> um i guess this is a series now
> 
> i was kinda inspired by some comments made by matsukawa in the previous fic so i'm gonna write them, which makes this and every fic after this prequels to pretty boy (ty for all the love on that one!)
> 
> once again no beta

Hanamaki’s six beers down before he realises he’s lost his partner.

Partner is perhaps too strong a word – it’s not like they’re dating or anything. But Matsukawa is the person Hanamaki brought with him – except he’s not, not really, because Matsukawa was also invited to Oikawa’s party and really, they’re just friends that fuck who both caught the same rideshare to the same place.

Not that it matters, Hanamaki muses as he glances around the packed living room. The music is loud, the playlist filled with everything from classic to current, pop to rock to alternative. He doesn’t know the song that’s playing at the moment, but there’s a heavy bass that thrums in his ribcage and he kind of likes it. People are talking, shouting, laughing as they dance or as they hang out in small groups in the corner of the room. But when Hanamaki looks over them, he can’t see Matsukawa anywhere.

With a grunt of effort, he pushes himself off the couch. A split second later, the space he’s just vacated is filled by a rush of bodies – Kuroo, shoving a beyond-plastered Daichi down before clambering onto his lap to make out ferociously.

Hanamaki shakes his head and scoffs. The least they could do is have some class and fuck in the bathroom – although Daichi seems like he’s about to lose consciousness any second, so maybe having him on a soft surface was a good idea. Regardless, his mission is Matsukawa, so Hanamaki makes his way across the room towards the kitchen. It’s the most likely place for him to be since he’s not in the main room, and he’s pleased to see he’s right when he finds him leaning against the counter talking to Iwaizumi.

“Mattsun, Iwa-chan,” Hanamaki grins as he presses himself into Matsukawa’s side, “What’s the goss?”

“We’re just talking about work shit. Iwaizumi got spat on by a customer,” Matsukawa says.

“Wait, no way,” Hanamaki gasps. “Like, actually spat on you?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Right in the eye. Apparently I made her wait too long before taking her order, but she was American, so I’m really not surprised. You know what they’re like.”

Hanamaki laughs, and Matsukawa lets out an undignified snort. The door to the kitchen swings open, interrupting them, and Suga pokes his head in. He looks around – there are a few other people in the kitchen, Hanamaki realises, enjoying the relative quiet – but when he sees Iwaizumi he smiles.

“Babe, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he says. “Tooru’s about to pass out, but he’s being obstinate about it. Can you drag him to bed?”

Iwaizumi sighs, but it’s a good-natured one, the one he always gives whenever one of his boyfriends is causing trouble. “Alright, I’m coming.”

He pats Matsukawa on the shoulder as a farewell before leaving with Suga. Matsukawa slings an arm around Hanamaki’s waist.

“Got bored?” he asks.

“Little bit,” Hanamaki says. “How come Iwaizumi can find two people willing to date him, and I can’t even find one? It’s fucking rude.”

Matsukawa squeezes his waist. “I hate to break it to you, but you are not Iwaizumi. You don’t have his jawline, or his broad shoulders. Or his arms. Or his ass.”

Hanamaki sighs in mock outrage. “You’re right. People are so shallow these days.”

With a laugh, Matsukawa presses a kiss to his jaw. “Want me to make you feel better?”

Before Hanamaki has the ability or the presence of mind to reply, Matsukawa turns and nudges him to the side. They’re close to a corner and when Hanamaki’s vision stops lagging, he realises he’s wedged into it with Matsukawa caging him in, hands on the counter on either side of him. And then he’s kissing him, and Hanamaki grabs the front of his sweatshirt for support.

They're slow kisses, open-mouthed but nothing raunchy. Matsukawa tastes like the rum and Cokes he’s been drinking, burning away the lingering beer in Hanamaki’s mouth. After a minute, when Hanamaki’s not sure if the weakness in his knees is just from being drunk, he pulls back – Matsukawa chases him, but only for a second.

“You’re just as shallow as everyone else,” Hanamaki jokes. “Maybe I’m not Iwaizumi, but you only like me for my body, so it can't be that bad.”

“Well, I certainly don’t like you for your sense of humour,” Matsukawa deadpans, and Hanamaki thumps him in the chest with both fists.

“Asshole. I thought you were making me feel better.”

Matsukawa smirks. “I was trying to, but then you decided to interrupt to call me a shallow asshole.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. He pushes at Matsukawa’s chest and asks, “Wanna see if the bathroom’s free?”

“Why bother?” Matsukawa replies.

He kisses him again and wraps an arm around his waist once more. With long, lean bodies flush against each other, Hanamaki can feel that Matsukawa’s starting to get interested. That’s something he can help with – something he’s more than happy to help with.

Just not in the corner of Oikawa’s kitchen.

He breaks the kiss again, mumbles into the other's jaw, “Don’t be a tease, Mattsun. It's not fair to work me up and then not follow through.”

“Who said I won't follow through?”

“What, you’re going to fuck me on the counter, in front of everyone?” Hanamaki snorts. He keeps his voice low, because even if he’s going to get railed in the bathroom and everyone’s going to know both during and after the fact, he doesn’t see the need to announce it beforehand as well.

Matsukawa smirks and, low and rumbling in his ear, says, “No, but I’ll get you off here, in front of everyone.”

Hanamaki doesn’t have a chance to even process what that means before Matsukawa is prying his hands from his sweatshirt and guiding them around his body to slide into the back pockets of his jeans. Unconsciously, Hanamaki squeezes the ass on offer. It’s only when Matsukawa pops the button of Hanamaki’s jeans that he realises what he’s trying to do, and he starts to pull his hands back, shaking his head.

“Mattsun, wait.”

Matsukawa shushes him, grabbing him by the elbows to keep him in place.

“They won’t know, if you’re quiet,” he says in between kisses along his neck. “I know being quiet isn’t easy for you, but I’m sure you can keep your mouth shut for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” Hanamaki’s attention is all over the place – the feeling of Matsukawa’s ass through his jeans, the hands tight on his arms, the tightness and heat growing low in his belly, the lips and teeth on his neck. It makes it hard to speak, but he manages. “You’re awfully confident.”

Matsukawa laughs. “I know what I’m doing. Come on, don’t you want to do something stupid?”

He lets go of one of Hanamaki’s arms and, still mouthing and nipping at his neck, unzips his jeans to create the space to slide his hand in and cup his half-hard dick. Hanamaki bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“I do something stupid on a regular basis,” he mutters. “Something stupid is currently trying to get my dick out in front of everyone.”

With a soft exhale against damp skin, Matsukawa removes his hand - Hanamaki’s hips buck, just a little, at the loss.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” he says. “Just say the word. I’m not gonna fuck you in the bathroom though - it’s way too cramped in there. You can come back to mine after the party.”

Hanamaki takes a moment to think. The alcohol flowing through his system has put him in a bit of a lazy mood, and the idea of going back to Matsukawa’s place, letting him lay him out on the bed to just utterly debauch him, sounds _amazing_. He could maybe even convince him to leave the party now rather than wasting time.

Plus, he’s never been an exhibitionist. The thought of being caught in the act by the people around them – people he knows, people he’s kind of friends with – makes him anxious.

But also…

A little excited.

He swallows, hard. Matsukawa kisses his throat.

“Need an answer, pretty boy,” he murmurs.

Hanamaki squeezes his ass again, harsher than before.

“If anyone figures it out,” he breathes, “I’m going to kill you. And I’ll make it hurt.”

“Mmm,” Matsukawa grins. “That’s mostly on you. Mouth shut.”

And then Matsukawa proceeds to make that order very hard to follow by kissing him, open-mouthed and demanding. He shifts his weight, which grinds his hips against Hanamaki’s, and Hanamaki gasps into his mouth.

In between wet, biting kisses, with Matsukawa's hand in his jeans again, Hanamaki scans the room over the other’s shoulder. Of the five people milling around the kitchen, he doesn’t recognise the pair of girls closest to the door, although he thinks he’s seen them before. But he definitely knows the other three. Konoha and Komi are chatting, beers in hand, the latter animatedly explaining something while the former smiles and nods. The third is Yaku, leaning against the counter maybe four or five feet away behind Matsukawa as he stares down at his phone. His thumbs fly over the screen – he’s busy. They’re all busy. They’re not going to notice.

Matsukawa sucks at the most prominent mark on Hanamaki’s neck as he pulls his hand free. Hanamaki bites his lip, sore from Matsukawa's teeth. For a second, he's confused – has he changed his mind? As long as he doesn’t leave him hanging, Hanamaki doesn’t mind too much. But then Matsukawa spits into his hand and slides it into Hanamaki’s boxers, freeing his dick from its confines – Hanamaki slams his head into the other’s shoulder with such speed and force that he’s surprised he doesn’t give himself a concussion.

“Kiss me,” Matsukawa urges.

He does as he’s told, but it’s a messy kiss, lips dragging as he tries to yank him closer despite the fact there’s no space to fill. Matsukawa works his dick with surprising efficiency, touching and squeezing in all the right places with the perfect amount of pressure, and Hanamaki has to choke back his whine.

He can feel his face heating up; his whole body heating up. The only thing stopping the others in the room from seeing him with his dick out is Matsukawa’s body, and his own arms around him with hands still firmly planted in his back pockets. He kneads Matsukawa’s ass, hips jerking erratically as he tries his hardest to keep them under control.

“Issei,” he pants into his mouth.

Matsukawa bites his bottom lip, hard, and Hanamaki knows it’s going to swell. “I’ve got you.”

It can’t be comfortable. Matsukawa’s only moving from the wrist, keeping his arm as still as possible to avoid drawing attention. And yet it doesn’t detract from his performance. He rubs his thumb over the head and pulls a low moan from Hanamaki before he can stop himself. His other hand grips Hanamaki’s hip tightly, keeping him pressed into the corner.

Eyes half-lidded, Hanamaki kisses sloppily along Matsukawa’s jaw, down his neck with teeth grazing. He’s just about to return to his lips when he glances up, not even thinking – and makes eye contact with Yaku.

His entire body tenses, eyes wide and fingers digging into Matsukawa's ass. His stomach flips – and not in an entirely bad way, he's terrified to realise. The only coherent thought in his head is _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Yaku, looking at him sideways, shakes his head slightly and rolls his eyes before going back to his phone.

Matsukawa nudges him back into a kiss. For a moment Hanamaki lets him, and then mutters against his lips, “’sei… he…”

“Relax,” Matsukawa soothes. “We’re just making out.”

Hanamaki wouldn’t feel so on edge if they were just making out – anxiety, excitement, and arousal all fraying his senses, heart pounding a million miles an hour. He cants his hips up, clenching his jaw to force back the groan that wants to escape.

“Fuck,” he grits through his teeth. “I fucking… _hate_ you, fu – ah… why did I let you... talk me into this...”

Just like Matsukawa had said, it's only been a few minutes and he’s already close – which Hanamaki would be embarrassed about if his entire focus wasn’t narrowed down to Matsukawa's hand on him. And the cocky shit knows it. Matsukawa pays special attention to the head of his dick and smiles, while Hanamaki pants into his mouth, toes curling, rocking the other’s hips forward.

The kitchen door slams open, making everyone in the room jump.

Matsukawa’s grip tightens in surprise, and Hanamaki is incredibly thankful that the first thing Bokuto does upon entering the room is shout, because it covers up his low, filthy moan.

“Haruki! Akinori!” Bokuto scoops the pair up into a hug, and they laugh with him.

He is so. _Fucking_. Close.

As difficult as Bokuto is to ignore at the best of times, Hanamaki’s pretty sure that right now, Matsukawa can make him. Adding two more to his unwitting audience – because of course, Akaashi is clinging to Bokuto’s arm, staring at him like his life will end if he ever stops – is something he can deal with. He made fucking eye contact with Yaku, and he’s still going.

He just wants to fucking _come_.

But it’s not just Bokuto and Akaashi who’ve barged in, giggly and messy-haired and sweaty – maybe _they’ve_ been fucking in the bathroom. Half a dozen other people come streaming in behind them, all just as loud and obnoxious.

Hanamaki groans, and Matsukawa grabs his chin with the hand not currently occupied, forcing him to look at him. Despite the alcohol he's consumed, Matsukawa's eyes are clear and burning.

“ _Kiss me_.”

Hanamaki does. His lips hurt, as bitten and abused as they are, but he does, and Matsukawa does something fucking _magical_ with his fingers, and Hanamaki comes with a moan that Matsukawa swallows.

It takes him a few seconds longer than usual to come back to himself, drunk-headed and slow. He mouths at Matsukawa’s lips without thought, or anywhere near enough coordination to be called kissing. By the time he’s mildly functional again, Matsukawa’s got him tucked back into his jeans, zipped and buttoned up and presentable – aside from the come splattered halfway up his shirt.

“Fuck, Issei,” Hanamaki hisses, panic clutching at his chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matsukawa grins, and before Hanamaki can ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to not worry about it, he leans back and shucks off his sweatshirt.

“Arms up, pretty boy.”

Matsukawa jams the sweatshirt over Hanamaki’s head, roughly tugging the sleeves on and yanking on the hem. When Hanamaki’s head pops through, he stares blankly at Matsukawa, now just sporting a t-shirt and an impressive tent in his jeans.

A presence at his side distracts him, and he looks over to see Iwaizumi leaning against the counter next to him, his arm around Suga's shoulders.

“Couldn’t help but notice you guys furiously making out in the corner,” Iwaizumi says nonchalantly. “Very antisocial of you.”

Matsukawa laughs and tugs Hanamaki forward by the hips until they’re pressed together, concealing his arousal. “Makki was being a bitch and complaining about being cold. Figured I’d warm him up.”

“You can’t have done a very good job,” Suga remarks, gesturing with a nod to Hanamaki and his newly-acquired sweatshirt.

“Like I said, he’s a bitch.”

Hanamaki smacks him in the chest. “You are so fucking rude tonight.”

Iwaizumi laughs and starts to say something, but he stops suddenly, glaring in the direction of the door. Hanamaki follows his gaze to see Oikawa, fully dressed but rubbing his eyes like he’s just woken up from a long night’s sleep.

“Shittykawa, I just fucking put you to bed. What are you doing?”

Oikawa blinks, then stretches out both arms and makes babyish grabbing motions. “Miss you. And Koushi.”

Iwaizumi scoffs, but the sudden blush is obvious. “Go back to bed.”

“I’ll go with him,” Suga says, extricating himself from under Iwaizumi’s arm.

“I thought you wanted to hang out with Sawamura?” Iwaizumi asks. “Since he's always working late, and you don't get to see him much. You’ve barely spoken to him tonight.”

Suga laughs. “Daichi is currently passed the fuck out on the couch underneath Kuroo. I’ll talk to him later.”

“Alright.” Iwaizumi presses a kiss to his temple and, after a moment of grumbling, yanks Oikawa forward to give him a forehead kiss – on the proviso that he stays in bed this time.

The door has barely closed behind them before Bokuto comes bounding up to drag Iwaizumi off, leaving Hanamaki and Matsukawa alone. Matsukawa smirks, one eyebrow raised, and before he can even begin to speak, Hanamaki smacks him in the chest again.

“So that’s how you thank me?” Matsukawa laughs. “Would it kill you to be grateful?”

“You,” Hanamaki says, poking him, “are the worst person. You better make it up to me.”

“I’m sorry, who’s the one that just got off? And who’s the one who has to wait?”

Hanamaki glares, pouting – but Matsukawa isn’t wrong. So he relents, wrapping his arms around the other’s shoulders and leaning heavily into him. Moving away from the counter makes him suddenly realise that his back hurts where he was jammed into the edge, and he winces. But its a minor inconvenience, especially with the drunken tiredness from earlier creeping back up on him.

“Take me home,” he demands. “You can fuck me however you want, as long as I don’t have to do much work. I’ll even let you fuck me if I fall asleep.”

“Home – you mean your place? Mine’s closer.”

Hanamaki bites his lip. He hadn’t had a specific place in mind when he'd said ‘home’. All that had mattered was that Matsukawa was there. Quickly, he brushes that dangerous thought aside with a shake of his head.

“Wherever, I don’t care. Just take me somewhere there’s a bed so I can lay down.”

“Alright, princess,” Matsukawa snorts.

Later, when Hanamaki is dangling somewhere between the depths of sleep and the intoxicating high of arousal, when Matsukawa is fucking into him slow and purposeful, he thinks, _you're my home_.

And then Matsukawa murmurs, voice rough and deliciously needy, _kiss me_ , and Hanamaki can't think about anything else.


End file.
